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Recently, an article ran in the LA Times about how women who post lots of photos of themselves on facebook value appearance and need lots of attention. The article goes on to say that women who spent a lot of time managing their profiles, the number of photos they shared, the size of their online networks and how promiscuous they were in terms of “friending” behavior and have the largest social networks were more highly vested in their appearance. I have 2,287 facebook friends.
Recently, an article ran in the LA Times about how women who post lots of photos of themselves on facebook value appearance and need lots of attention.
The article goes on to say that women who spent a lot of time managing their profiles, the number of photos they shared, the size of their online networks and how promiscuous they were in terms of “friending” behavior and have the largest social networks were more highly vested in their appearance.
On the one hand, I know for doggone sure that I am guilty, guilty, guilty. I am socially promiscuous -- I’ll friend any old body. I am completely vested in my appearance at least 4 out of every 7 days. I share a gajillion pictures on Facebook, (though to be fair the only album of just me is my conception-to-labor preggo pics).
So, am I caught? Absolutely. I have never EVER pretended that I don’t invest significant time and resources into dressing cute, gettin’ my hair DID, and being a self-proclaimed fashion plate. But, I also try to live intentionally by taking stock and putting less into something that has very little value in the grand scheme of things.
I acknowledge and own the way’s I have benefited from \”pretty privilege.\”
Last week when I reconnected with an old pal from my hood, we had the following -slightly crass- but very informative conversation:
J: “Man, y’all cute girls are crazy.
Me: What? Why?
J: Well, it’s pretty simple. We been trying to bang y’all since 6th grade, we been lyin’, manipulating and cheatin’ on y’all since forever and then we put y’all up on this crazy high horse, act like y’all are gods only to tear you down again. I blame men for cute girls being crazy. And you have the cute curse.
Me: Oh. I see. Well, that COMPLETELY explains my craziness”.
As ridiculous as the conversation looks, it holds enough truth to satisfy my issues: my social promiscuity, my value of my appearance, my need for attention, so says the study in the LA Times.
The first time a boy ever told me he wanted to have sex with me I was eight.
Eight.
Eight years old. And he went into awful detail that seriously disgusted me.
He was fourteen.
Enough folks convinced my Ma I was “a beautiful mixed-race child,” and should start using my body to make the doughnuts. She enrolled me in modeling school. I started modeling at 10.
Nothing says PLEASE-VALUE-ME-FOR-HOW-CUTE-I-AM like a pre-teen modeling gig. I didn’t think I was the shiz at that time. What I thought is that there were a million other girls much prettier (and thinner) than me and I needed to decide how to create an edge real quick. At 10.
Modeling made me feel uglier. At 10. Because my ears stuck out too far, and my feet were HUGE by then.
Post modeling -- for the second time around -- and since that first scary proposition at eight, I’ve had about a gajillion young boys, teen-aged boys and now -- disgustingly -- 50 year old men express interest in one particular thing.
I’m not thinking I need to go into much more detail than that.
So, the question is: When a young girl is constantly told she is pretty and that her appearance is -essentially- all she has of value, what on earth do you think said little girl is going to put a giant amount of stock in?
SO YOU WILL HAVE TO FORGIVE ME -LA TIMES- FOR NOT BEING A LITTLE FRUSTRATED ABOUT YOUR STUPID LITTLE STUDY WHICH MOST OF US ALL READY KNEW AND DID NOT PROVIDE ANY REAL SOLUTIONS.
Ahhh... now I feel better.
I’m actually not angry but I get frustrated that we
